


Spark of Life

by kronette



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S3E20 "Foreign Exchange" at the arraignment trial for Scott Bruenell (played by Peter Wingfield), things go to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 1998 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.

Detective Jim Ellison and his Guide, partner, friend and lover, Blair Sandburg, were arguing—again.

Jim wasn't surprised at the order his brain clicked down when thinking of Blair. A mere three years ago they were strangers. Then they were Sentinel and Guide, Blair offering stability to Jim's suddenly overly bright, overly loud world. As Jim's Guide, it made perfect sense to have Blair along on police business, and a partnership developed over the next two years. When Blair moved in after his place blew up, he shook up Jim's world, forcing him to see how isolated he had become. Ever since his divorce from Carolyn, Jim had refused to let anyone close to him again. One bundle of enthusiasm named Blair Sandburg had utterly destroyed that notion. Blair was infectious, and friendship with him had opened doors that Jim thought closed forever.

Now in their fourth year together, Jim had finally taken that final step. He knew that Sandburg had been more than ready, but he had said nothing, letting Jim work it all out for himself. And when Jim had gone to his partner, amazingly tongue-tied at first, then with more force than he thought possible, said he wanted Blair to stay permanently, Blair had simply given him a blinding smile and murmured, "Thought you'd never ask, man."

That had been four months ago, and things had progressed hot and fast. They converted Blair's old room into a study and moved more of Blair's artifacts into the loft. Their home was eclectically decorated, but it fit the two personalities inhabiting it. Brought together by a strange force, kept together by an even stranger bond, their lives were now intrinsically intertwined.

"Chief, please," Jim wheedled in a tone he knew would work. Megan Conner had asked that the detective be at the arraignment trial for Scott Bruenell, and he had agreed. She was tied up in a series of homicides and couldn't get away to be there herself. She had pursued the criminal across the international timeline, two continents, and countless states. Jim knew how much it meant to Conner that someone be there to make sure things went smoothly. He hadn't minded, but he wanted his lover with him. The case was pretty cut and dried, and would probably be boring. Which is why Jim wanted Blair along...for distraction. He straightened his tie and leaned against the support beam near the door. "You said you were free today."

"No." Blair smiled indulgently at him as he passed by on the way to the kitchen. He deposited his breakfast dishes in the sink and turned back to face his lover. "I said I didn't have anything _pressing_ to do today. I still have to catch up on last week's assignments. Those three late night stakeouts really cut into my grading time."

Jim felt a small wash of guilt. Blair had plenty of responsibilities at the University in addition to time put in at the police station, plus he was pulling together his thesis at Jim's insistence. "I made up for it, didn't I?" he replied huskily. He gave Blair his best 'hurt' look, which wasn't nearly as good as Blair's...which the younger man turned on full-force.

"Yeah, you did...which set me back _another_ day." Blair sauntered over to him and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. "Not that I minded that one," he amended slyly, leaning up to plant a kiss to Jim's parted lips.

"So you'll go?" Jim persisted as his hands explored the hard planes of Blair's back.

"Screw it. The TA can grade 'em," Blair murmured as he buried his nose in Jim's neck. Jim felt the small exhale that signaled Blair's surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll go. Let me get changed...hey, wait a minute." The grad student pulled back and eyed Jim warily. "You just want to see me in my suit," Blair accused with a pout.

Jim managed to keep his lips from quirking up in a smile—a remarkable feat considering that _was_ one of the reasons he asked Blair to go with him. He liked seeing his lover dressed up, especially since Blair's wardrobe had improved over the years. Almost gone were the thrift store hippie threads, replaced with more jackets to fit with Blair's teaching credentials. Nowadays, Blair generally dressed better and his suits were better quality Ñ but nothing he wore could outdo the sparkle in his eyes. That sparkle of happiness had grown more and more pronounced with each year they were together.

That sparkle was there now, and Jim couldn't resist wrapping his arms around his lover and pulling him to his chest. "And that's a problem?" he murmured in his Guide's ear, nibbling at the earring for good measure. Blair relaxed in his arms, and Jim knew he had won. He risked a quick smile of triumph, then quickly schooled his features to neutrality.

"Ah, no," Blair whispered with a slight catch to his voice. "Not a problem. Five minutes."

Jim yelped as Blair gave his ass a squeeze. He glared down at the smiling man still in his arms.

"After all, I've already got you in your suit," Blair purred.

"Don't get wrinkles in these pants, Chief! I don't want to iron them again." He playfully pushed Blair toward the stairs and settled down on the couch to wait.

~~~

The midmorning sunlight highlighted the dust motes floating lazily in the not-quite modern courtroom as Jim and Blair entered. It was a little after ten on a crisp Monday morning and the trial for Scott Daniel Bruenell was about to begin. 

The few people assembled were talking in hushed tones. Jim noted the guards standing by each doorway, in addition to the one who guarded the prisoner. Pretty standard fare for a murderer and a thief. The media had been relatively uninterested in this trial; they were more concerned about a serial killer that had struck the south side of Cascade.

Jim nodded toward the benches behind the Defense's table and slid down along the seat, leaving just enough room for Blair to sit next to him. As Blair settled beside him, Jim's glance slid to Bruenell. A scowl curled Jim's lip as he regarded the prisoner. Two months in jail didn't seem to have affected him. Jim took in the crisp, impeccably tailored gray Armani suit, highly polished wing tips, and, from the looks of it, new haircut. With his hands folded loosely on the table in front of him, he was the picture of utter relaxation and confidence. Bruenell seemed to completely ignore the security guard beside him.

"Jim, where are you?" his Guide's voice whispered, low enough that only he could hear.

"Just assessing our friend over there," Jim's replied quietly as he nodded toward Bruenell.

Blair's gaze followed Jim's. As if sensing their eyes upon him, Bruenell's glance shifted from the table to the Sentinel and his Guide. Jim's eyes narrowed at the shrewd gaze, returning one of disgust.

Jim's Sentinel abilities kicked in as he registered an increase in a heartbeat near him. He just caught an aborted move Blair had made for his hand, and wondered what had triggered it. He leaned over and whispered, "What's wrong?"

Blair shook his head but kept his eyes locked on Bruenell. "Nothing. Just a bad case of the willies. I never was much for the American justice system."

Blair's heart rate was still accelerated, and he had taken to tapping his fingers on his slacks. He was lying. About what, Jim didn't know yet. But if there was one thing he knew about his lover, it was that Blair was a lousy liar. Sooner or later, he would crack.

Jim's hearing picked up a chorus of footsteps coming down the hallway; the jury pool must be heading their way. Deciding Blair's problem could wait, he opted to tease his guide out of his 'willies'. "You've been talking to your mother again, haven't you?"

Blair's mouth opened and closed silently, and Jim very nearly burst out laughing. "So what if I have?" his lover answered defensively.

Jim just smiled and shook his head. "It doesn't bother me if you talk to Naomi, as long as she doesn't try to talk you into convincing me to leave the force."

"She'd never do that," Blair muttered, though he slunk a bit further down in the bench.

Jim had to pass his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. He was prepared to tease Blair more when the jury pool being led into the room caught his attention. Jim straightened and stood with everyone else as the court was called to session and the judge entered.

"Please be seated. I am Judge Alexandra Dupree of the fourteenth Northern District of Washington. Today we will hear the case of the United States versus Scott Daniel Bruenell..."

Jim tuned out the list of crimes Bruenell was accused of and focused his concentration on the man himself. The wide-eyed, almost innocent expression on Bruenell's face turned his stomach. He glanced away, just in time to catch Blair wince.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim whispered close to his ear.

"How can he sit there so calmly?" Blair whispered back, his eyes flicking to Bruenell. "It's like he knows the outcome already."

"He's going away for life, Chief. Life times a few, I guarantee it. We caught him red-handed."

"Are you sure about that?" Blair asked nervously as the tiniest smug grin curved Bruenell's mouth.

Jim glared over at Bruenell, then focused on his partner. Blair jumped as Jim's hand touched his briefly. "Positive."

Blair shot him a smoldering look, then quickly schooled his face into a 'proper' courtroom expression. Jim almost chuckled, but just then, a wave of uneasiness swept through him. He glanced around the courtroom again, noting that Bruenell's gaze was bright as he stared at him—too bright with intimate knowledge. What had Bruenell seen? Then again, what did he care? Bruenell wouldn't be bothering anyone for several lifetimes. Jim squeezed Blair's hand once more for reassurance, then poured his concentration to the proceedings.

"Prosecution, you may begin."

Jim's eyelids drooped as the questions droned on and on, almost falling asleep. His head snapped back up as he felt a presence behind him. He half-turned to glance back at the man who had just slipped into the bench behind him. The casually dressed man gave a polite nod, which Jim returned. Jim then glanced to Blair, who was following the proceedings. His unruly mass of curls was tamed back into a neat ponytail, though a few stray tendrils curled about his strong jaw. Forcing himself to not stare at his lover, Jim barely heard the next question.

The Prosecuting attorney asked, "May I ask the defendant to rise?"

Bruenell slowly rose to his feet, straightening his suit as he folded his hands primly before him.

"Thank you. Does anyone recognize the defendant, Scott Daniel Bruenell? He was born in New South Wales, Australia."

There was dead silence, then all hell broke loose.

"Yeah, I do!" Two of the jury members jumped up and pulled hidden guns on the judge. The guard nearest the jury box drew his weapon, but aimed for the guard who was covering the other door. The three men spread out expertly .

Jim winced from the sudden explosion of noise. Orders were barked out, the crash of people talking excitedly, and terrified voices created an almost physical wall of sound. He filtered out the noise, concentrating on the techniques Blair had taught him. When he felt confident enough, he was immediately on his feet, his hand automatically reaching for a gun that wasn't there. "Damn," he whispered softly as he stood by helplessly. How in the hell had they managed to get guns in here? Three check points. They had to get past _three_ check points before getting up to the fourteenth floor. How in the _hell_ had this happened? 

Jim watched in slow motion as the guard behind Bruenell drew his gun. The guard's hand rose just as Bruenell's elbow bashed his nose. The gun clattered to the floor, along with the guard. Bruenell cuffed the guard's wrists together and retrieved the gun. It was immediately pointed at the judge. Jim's jaw was tightly clenched as his frustration mounted. If he attempted to rush one of them, the others would fire. And he couldn't take them all on.

"Drop your guns or she dies," Bruenell ordered calmly. The two remaining guards handed over their weapons and were quickly cuffed. 

Jim sensed movement to his left and an agonized, whispered, "Jim," filled him with dread. He slowly turned his head to see Blair standing up beside him, a gun firmly planted against his neck. The man holding the gun—and his Guide—smiled unpleasantly at Jim.

"Hello again, Detective."

"Let him go," Jim threatened.

Blair hissed as the man tightened his arm around Blair's chest. "I don't think so. Mr. Sandburg, here," he nudged the gun just a bit deeper into Blair's neck, "is one of our tickets out of here."

Blair shot Jim a wild-eyed look, one that Jim recognized all too well. His partner was getting very tired of guns being shoved in his face. And he was _extremely_ tired of being used as a hostage. Blair's eyes flicked up to the man's face, and Jim could see the indecision there. Trust Blair to want to do something about this now. Waiting until Blair looked his way again, Jim minutely shook his head. If Blair tried anything, it could mean someone's death.

Jim leveled a deadly glare on the man holding Blair. "You really think you're going to get out of here alive?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Of course," the man replied confidently. He grinned toothily. "Is there any reason why we shouldn't?"

"Yeah, try the dozen or so guards you have to get past," Jim snarled.

The man just smiled. His smile faded as his eyes looked at something over Jim's shoulder, and Jim whipped around to see what had caught his attention.

Bruenell's gun was turned toward him, leveled at his chest. "Detective James Ellison," Bruenell drawled. "I was expecting Conner, but I guess she had other engagements today. Too bad. This should have been her party."

"You're crazy, Bruenell. There's no escape," Jim tried to reason with the criminal.

"Oh, there is always an escape," Bruenell informed him with a cold smile. "As long as you have the proper ingredients." He looked behind Jim and nodded, and Jim took an involuntary step towards Bruenell.

"He's not part of this," Jim growled. Bruenell was not taking his lover. It was completely, wholly, unnegotiable. Blair hadn't wanted to come down to the courthouse this morning in the first place, but Jim had insisted. And look where it had gotten him—in another situation, with another gun in his face. It was a wonder Blair still wanted to be with him.

Bruenell's voice was cold, without feeling, and it cut right through Jim. "He's here today. He's your partner. Tell me, Detective, how is he not part of this?" 

Jim closed his eyes. There was no way he could tell Bruenell that Blair was just a civilian. It was obvious Bruenell placed some value on him as part of the department. Tell him Blair wasn't attached, and Blair was as good as dead.

"I thought so," Bruenell answered himself smugly. "Bring him."

Jim's eyes snapped open as he heard Bruenell take a step. He had moved to the right, toward the jury box. "Detective?" Bruenell made it a question, but Jim knew he had no choice but to join the others. Two of the gunmen were ushering the remaining people over to the jury box.

"Time?" Bruenell asked crisply.

"Ten," one of the henchmen answered.

Ten...minutes? Until what? Jim thought as he sat down where instructed. He had been checked quickly for weapons, even though it was supposed to be impossible to have them in the federal building. The henchmen sat the hostages in the first bench behind the Defendant's table and huddled with Bruenell to talk. Jim turned up his hearing.

"Is everything in place?" Bruenell asked.

"Yes."

"Good. You two, check that the stairway is secure." The men nodded. "You," Bruenell tapped the other man with the barrel of his gun, "Keep a close eye on the cop. Take good care of his partner over there, but keep them apart," he stressed. "They're connected somehow, and together they have the best conviction rating in Cascade. I will not be part of it."

Jim turned down his hearing at that. Bruenell must have been reading old newspaper articles about him and Blair. That meant Bruenell knew a lot more than he was letting on, and he suspected something between them. Keeping them apart wouldn't matter, Jim knew. But Bruenell didn't.

The small knot of men broke up. Bruenell crossed his arms and casually leaned against the table as he made a quick assessment of the hostages. "You," he unfolded his arms and pointed his gun at a man in the jury box. "Come with me."

The tall, thin man stood up hesitantly, and Jim stood up along with him. "Take me instead. I'm a better negotiating tool."

Bruenell waved Jim off disgustedly. "Come on, you, I haven't got all day. MOVE!" he snapped. The man moved. "Into the judge's chambers. Now!" Bruenell followed him in, and a few tense minutes later, they both reemerged, clothing exchanged. 

As the man returned to his seat, Bruenell shook his head sadly at Jim. "Sorry, Detective, but you weren't my size."

Jim again tried to reason with him. "Bruenell, give yourself up. This can only end in bloodshed."

"Yours, maybe, but not mine." Bruenell walked over and took the rest of the jury member's ID badges and tossed them at his preferred hostages. "Put them on." The henchmen clipped badges to their own clothes as well.

Blair stared down at the ID badge one of the goons handed him and shot Jim a look across the room. _'Don't let them take me,'_ may has well have been spoken aloud, because that look cut through Jim like a knife. Jim was afraid his voice cracked as he tried one last time to reach Bruenell. "Bruenell, don't do this. Take me instead."

"Detective Ellison, while I'm sure you will be a most levelheaded hostage, I also know that I could never turn my back on you. Covert Ops is very hard to shake, isn't it? But if I take your partner, then you'll cooperate. You wouldn't want to be the cause of anything bad happening to him, would you? Especially to a civilian?" he added under his breath.

Bruenell knew. He _knew_. Jim's teeth hurt from all the grinding they were doing. He was absolutely helpless. "No," he growled.

Bruenell's smile was blinding. "Good. We understand each other. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must be going."

Bruenell sauntered over and stood directly in front of Blair. "Up."

Blair sat defiantly, and Jim silently sent up a combined cheer and scream of frustration. _Now isn't the time_ , he chanted. _Pick your time. You'll know your chance when you see it. This isn't the time!_

Bruenell leaned down over Blair. "Mr. Sandburg," he intoned menacingly. "I've read quite a bit about you during my incarceration. I know you must be tired of seeing guns so casually waved in your face. I won't waste my time, or yours, in threatening you." Bruenell turned and aimed the gun at Jim.

"Pacifists are sooo predictable," he announced smugly as Blair was instantly on his feet, his eyes seeking out Jim's across the room. Jim nodded slightly, letting Blair know he was doing the right thing. _Hang in there_.

There was anything but calmness in Blair's eyes as he turned and filed out of the courtroom with Bruenell and his goons. Blair's eyes had shown dark with anger: he was pissed. If Jim weren't so worried, he might have laughed. But, he _was_ worried, and now he had hysterical people to calm down.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, please. I am a police officer. Try to remain calm. I'm going to check out the hallway." The judge and lawyers went to release the guards, so Jim pulled a relatively calm-looking woman to the side. "I want you to go to one of the other rooms on this floor and tell them what's going on. Tell them to call Captain Banks, the guards downstairs; alert _everyone_ that there is a hostage situation going down. Got that?"

She nodded, though her face paled. "Is he really your partner?" she asked.

"Yes," Jim answered distractedly. His Sentinel hearing had just picked up their fading footsteps.

"You both have guts," she remarked quietly before slipping toward the door.

Jim followed her, intent on the rapidly fading footsteps. He glanced around him, looking for the door to the stairs. Quietly making his way to the stairwell, he listened carefully at the door. He heard Bruenell and grimaced. There weren't any security cameras in the stairwells, so Bruenell was safe for now. He'd have to emerge from the protection of the stairwell soon enough, and that's when Jim intended to make his move. He kicked up his hearing and heard Bruenell giving what sounded like orders to everyone.

"This is how it's going to happen: We're just a bunch of jurors happy to be let out for lunch. When we get downstairs, we'll discuss which restaurant we want to eat at. One of you will answer that the nice one across the street will be perfect. They have great Mexican food. We'll all agree, then cross the street. Once we're all safely across the street, _we_ will disappear. _You_ will stay inside the restaurant for five minutes. By that time, I'm sure the resourceful detective and this city's fine police department will have been in collaboration. Isn't that right?"

Jim realized Bruenell was addressing Blair.

"I said, isn't that right?" There was a dull thump, and Jim made a move to shove the door open, hell-bent on rescuing his lover. With an extreme force of will, he held himself in check. He couldn't rush Bruenell in the stairwell; it was too confined. He had to be patient.

"Whatever," Blair's voice mumbled, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. _Wait for your chance_ , he sent silently to his Guide, even though he knew Blair couldn't hear him.

However, _he_ could hear _Blair_. "Should you really have your guns out? Isn't that risky?"

"Not just yet. Not until we reach the ground floor," Bruenell explained. "Then our casual stroll, and then you can all go home to your loved ones."

_Sandburg, you're a genius. Keep him talking_. Jim quietly opened the door and started down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. Blair's voice startled him. It was muffled; Blair must be making it look like he was mumbling to himself.

"Jim, hope you're there. Hope you can hear me. Just passed ninth floor. Smells like... _shit_...dead."

Two floors down Jim nearly choked on the stench of fresh blood. One more flight and he came across the bodies Blair passed earlier. So that's where the goons had gotten their guns; four plainclothesmen lay dead in a heap. Fury nearly blinded him, but he forced it back. He had to focus; they couldn't be moving fast with the dozen people they had. Did Bruenell really think he could just waltz through the front doors? The media were outside; surely they would recognize him.

"I didn't think hostages were your style," Blair's voice drifted to Jim's sensitive hearing.

Bruenell chuckled. "Not usually. By all rights, everyone in that courtroom should be dead."

"Why, then? What makes us special?"

"Why, Mr. Sandburg, it isn't every day I get to test my skills against the great James Ellison. And do you know who is going to win?"

"Ellison?" Blair taunted, then groaned in pain.

Jim winced as he heard the crack of steel on bone.

"Shut up. Just shut up and keep moving."

When Jim got to Bruenell, he was going to make him _eat_ that gun. That thought stayed with him as he got closer to their position.

Blair's mutterings continued. "Second floor. Hurry."

Jim wished he had a weapon, but there hadn't been anything useful between the courtroom and the stairwell. He heard a door open, then close after a few seconds. They must be on the first floor. Jim took the remaining steps quickly and paused at the door, listening for—one heartbeat, just on the other side. The door opened out, so all he had to do was time it just... right...

With a shove, Jim pushed the door right into the henchman. The gun skittered across the floor and they both dived for it. Jim's hand closed around it, but the goon stamped his foot down on Jim's knuckles. Hissing in pain, Jim twisted and kicked the guy's feet out from under him. 

The goon went down in a heap, and Jim shuffled to his knees as he aimed the gun at the perp. "Don't yell a warning, don't even breathe, or you're dead," he hissed.

"Then so's your partner," the goon replied with a sneer. "'Cuz if I go, he goes." The crook made a slashing motion across his neck, and Jim's grip tightened on the gun.

"Shut up!" Jim ordered as he knocked the guy's head with the butt of the gun, sending him into unconsciousness. He focused his hearing and followed the faint echoes of the criminals. The muted sound of feet had stopped. What was going on?

"Jim," Blair's voice sounded frantic, "He's dividing us."

Bruenell's voice overlapped Blair's. "Take the last. I'll follow in a minute." A dull thump followed Bruenell's additional statement: "Not you."

Jim winced as a heartbeat spiked, then white-hot rage filled his vision. Blair's nervous voice floated back to him. "What are you doing?"

"I want to talk." Bruenell's interested glances clicked into place for Jim, along with Blair's nervousness in the courtroom. The bastard was not going to touch Blair. Jim would personally cut off each of Bruenell's fingers if Bruenell touched his lover.

"Talk about what? Come on, you don't want to be left behind." Blair was almost cajoling Bruenell with his tone of voice, and Jim had to close his eyes against his onslaught of fear. If anything happened, it would be his own fault.

"They won't make the next move without me. They have orders to follow." Jim heard the slight rasp of flesh on cloth, then another shuffle of feet. Bruenell's voice hardened as he added, "But you...you don't follow orders; you give them. I could use a mind like yours. Disciplined. Focused." Jim heard more shuffling of feet and extended his hearing. Sound was the only thing he could concentrate on; the only thing that existed.

Blair barked out a laugh. "You want me to join you? Have you lost your mind? Hey!" he yelped. Sounds of feet scuffling on the concrete and cloth being crushed. Bruenell must have grabbed Blair's arm. Jim pushed his hearing to the limits.

"Yes," Bruenell whispered—shouted, to Jim's ears. "You're brilliant and resourceful. The two of us working together would be unstoppable."

Blair snapped back, "In case you forgot, I work with cops."

"Sometimes cops make the best criminals. Who knows the system better?" Bruenell's voice dropped to an oily rasp. "Don't tell me you wouldn't want the money. I know what you pull down in a year. I make that with one job." Bruenell's voice stopped momentarily, and Jim thought he was done, until the smooth tones returned. "How does a quarter of a million dollars sound? Think of it. Think what you could do with that kind of money. You'd have everything you ever wanted. You'd be able to go anywhere. Do anything."

Jim almost didn't recognize Blair's voice. The deep, calm tone was opposite of the nervous cracks dotting the sentences. There was something else there, too. Longing? No, not Blair. Blair didn't need... "You're insane. What makes you think I'd take dirty money? What about me screamed 'idiot' to you? Do I look that desperate?"

Jim held his breath.

Bruenell paused before answering, "Desperate, yes. But not for money." Jim could almost hear the smirk in his voice, but he couldn't tell where Bruenell was going. "An 80% conviction rating is impressive. And you've only been with the department, what? Three years now? Plus, you're paired up with the Detective of the Year. You must be something special, Mr. Sandburg. Or else Ellison is."

Jim's eyes flew open at that. What was Bruenell doing? What angle was he playing?

"Ellison's just a cop," Blair tried to deflect Bruenell.

"So what does that make you?" Bruenell murmured.

"His partner," Blair answered defiantly. "We work well together because we understand each other. I know exactly what he's doing right now. He's already down the stairs. He's taken out the goon you left behind, and he's heading straight for you. You're going down, Bruenell. You're going down hard."

Another lengthy silence, then Bruenell laughed. "Are you expecting a rescue by Ellison? I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? He's not coming." There was a short pause—one that felt like an eternity to Jim. "Right about now, Detective Ellison is eating a gun."

Dead silence that stretched, then Blair choked out, "What?"

"No," Jim whispered—thought he whispered. Couldn't be sure, because he couldn't tell reality apart from the sounds in his head. "No. Don't listen to him. Don't let him get to you."

"Did you think I would leave anyone alive up there?" The sound of a body being pulled forward. Resistance. Then Bruenell's quiet hiss, "My man just blew his head off."

"NO!" Jim tried to scream, but his throat seized up.

A sound like a freight train blasted through Jim's head. The sound solidified into Blair's voice, howling, "Noooo!"

Jim's world suddenly stopped in a blinding flash of light, color, and sound. His hearing was gone, short circuited by the ringing of a gunshot. He fell to the floor, holding his aching ears and moaning. He couldn't hear Blair's heartbeat; he couldn't hear his own. His mind screamed for his guide while his heart screamed for his lover. What had happened? Who had been shot? Had Blair...? Forcing his legs to _move, move, move_ , Jim weaved his way toward Blair, holding onto the wall for support. He turned the last corner and came upon a scene he never thought he'd see.

"Blair," he gasped as he stepped closer to his lover.

Blair's hair had come out of the neat ponytail and was now hanging in disarray about his head. Tears spilled from blue eyes as Blair glared down at the limp form of Bruenell, lying spreadeagle on the floor. Blair's arm was out, gun pointed at the criminal. The hand that held the gun was shaking. The body attached to the hand was shaking even more. Blair's lips were moving, but all Jim could make out were muffled sounds.

"Chief, put down the gun," Jim said, though he couldn't tell how loud he was speaking. He hoped he sounded a hell of a lot calmer than he felt. He sucked in great gasps of air to stave off his rising panic. Bruenell hadn't moved. What if he was...? No, he wouldn't think about that now. First and foremost, he had to get the gun away from Sandburg.

Blair's lips hadn't stopped moving as he remained completely focused on Bruenell, lying in a spreading pool of blood. The pain in Jim's head was lessening, and his hearing was starting to return. Slowly, Blair's voice came back full force.

His voice was a rasp of pain, and each sentence was met by a punctuated move of the gun. "So help me God, I'll blow your face off. I'll blow your damn _dick_ off, you son of a bitch. I _loved_ him. He was my _life_." Blair's voice rose in volume and hysterics, and Jim was afraid his lover was on the verge of collapse. "You'd never understand. All you care about is money. Well _fuck_ money." His voice calmed to emotionlessness. "He's dead. You're dead." The shaking hand fired, the bullet ricocheting off the floor to imbed somewhere in the far wall.

"Sandburg!" Jim yelled as he rushed his lover, grabbing the hand with the gun and prying it out of the cold grip. Blair struggled in his arms, but Jim kept one arm around Blair as he tossed the gun against the wall.

"Dead, dead, dead," Blair chanted, blind to who was actually holding him.

"Chief," Jim whispered. "Chief, listen to me. This is Jim."

"Jim's dead," Blair's ragged admission caused Jim's heart to skip a beat. The absolute aloneness in those words brought tears to his own eyes.

Jim tilted the younger man's head up until he could look into his lover's eyes. "Blair," he whispered desperately.

The tear-filled eyes focused on him, and Blair let out a choked gasp. "J-Jim?"

"I'm here, Chief. I'm okay."

Blair shook his head despite the grip Jim had on him. "It can't be you; you're dead."

"It _is_ me," Jim whispered as he claimed Blair's lips in affirmation. Blair put up mild resistance, then melted into the familiarity of Jim's kiss.

"Jim," Blair breathed his name as they parted. "You're alive."

"I'm alive," Jim assured him. "I was following you the whole time. I was right behind you, just like you thought. I heard every word you said to me."

Blair wasn't listening. His hands were roaming over Jim's body, seeking reassurance that Jim was real. "Oh, God Jim, I wanted him dead. He said he'd had you killed."

"Sandburg, relax," Jim murmured in Blair's ear, even as Blair's legs gave out on him and they sank to the floor, Jim unwilling to let Blair go.

Blair clutched at Jim's suit lapels, still staring at Bruenell's body. "He said you were dead and I believed him because he never left any witnesses alive and I hated him so much so I s-s-shot him," he croaked. "I...killed him."

Blair wasn't capable of killing anyone; Jim was as sure of that as his own name. "Sssh, it'll be okay, Chief," he tried to reassure his lover. 

"I killed a man," Blair repeated softly.

"No, you didn't. I can hear his heartbeat," Jim lied automatically. His hearing was still sensitive, and he didn't want to focus it too intently just yet. "Let me check on him. Will you stay here while I check his vitals? Chief?"

Slowly, Blair's fist unclenched from Jim's suit, and the detective was able to make a quick but thorough assessment of Bruenell's health. Heartbeat thready, breathing shallow, but he was alive. "His heartbeat's weak, but he's still with us." Jim turned to see Blair had curled up on himself, his eyes still locked on Bruenell's body.

"Chief—Blair, don't do this. He's only wounded." Jim cursed the fact that he didn't have his cell phone, but the sudden clash of footsteps in the stairwell said reinforcements were on their way. "The cavalry is almost here, Blair. They'll call an ambulance, Bruenell will be taken to the hospital, and he'll be back in jail within a week. Two weeks, tops. He'll be okay."

Blair didn't answer him, just remained curled in a fetal position, staring listlessly at the man he had shot.

~~~

Jim restlessly paced as a federal agent asked him questions about the shooting. The small area on the first floor had been swarming with agents, cops, security guards, and medical teams within fifteen minutes of the attempted escape, and Jim had had precious little time to talk to Blair.

Jim described what had gone down with precision and brevity, his only thought to wrap Blair in a safe cocoon for a week. The object of his thoughts was across the room from him, talking to another agent. "Look, can I check on my partner?" Jim asked for the third time.

"Not until he has given his statement. You know the routine, Detective," the woman Fed replied with increasing frustration. "We're almost done here."

Jim kept his eyes on Blair at the opposite end of the room, barely hearing the questions the agent was asking him. His lover was staring at the bloodstains on the floor as though he could somehow erase them. Blair's hair was still half in his ponytail; the straggly curls made him look older than he was. His arms were tightly wrapped around his body, wrinkling the nice jacket. Jim could see the faint bloodsplatters on the lapels, though he doubted anyone else could. A few flecks on Blair's cheek stood out like beacons to Jim's eyes, making Blair's skin even paler by comparison.

Blair had refused to be touched by anyone but Jim, including the medical team, but Jim recognized shock when he saw it. Experience told him that the younger man was heading for an adrenaline crash soon, and Jim wanted to get him home as soon as possible. He was dimly aware of being dismissed by the agent as he focused his hearing across the room.

"We found both yours and Detective Ellison's prints on the gun, along with the suspect's. Do you admit to firing the gun?" the Fed asked Blair.

Blair nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg, we must have verbal answers."

Blair nodded mutely again, then seemed to come back to himself. "Yes. Yes, I fired the gun," he answered shakily. He cleared his throat. "I shot him." 

"Bruenell?" the Fed prompted.

Blair almost nodded again, but he whispered, "Yes."

"Can you describe what happened?"

"He..." Blair swallowed hard, then continued in a softer voice, "He wanted me to go with him. He needed a hostage...a shield, to get him out of the building. I made a grab for the gun, and it went off."

"Did anything transpire between the time he threatened you and the time the gun went off?"

At that, Blair turned his head away from the agent. "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"You said he needed a hostage. What exactly did he say to you, Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair was quiet for several seconds, seconds in which Jim catalogued a barrage of emotions cross his lover's face. A shudder rippled through Jim as he caught the look in Blair's eyes. They were shining with his normal intensity, but there was a coldness present that Jim had never seen before.

Blair tilted his head back and leveled that gaze on the agent. "Bruenell tempted me with a quarter of a million dollars to join him and his goons. Said he could use a mind like mine, whatever the fuck that meant. When that didn't get a rise out of me, he told me he had killed my partner. I went apeshit and shot the bastard. End of story."

The agent wrote everything down carefully, either unable or unwilling to see the crackle of energy from Sandburg's body. Jim could sense the seething anger just below the surface.

"That should be sufficient, though we'll still need a statement from Bruenell after he regains consciousness." The agent actually backed up a step as he caught the full effect of Blair's gaze. "But seeing as you were in a hostage situation, I don't see any problems. It was self-defense."

Jim started as a heartrate suddenly increased. He concentrated on the sound and discovered that it was Blair's heart that was pounding in his chest. What had gotten to him? The fed had pretty much cleared him of charges; all Blair needed was the green light to go home.

As if on cue, the Fed announced, "You're free to leave, Mr. Sandburg. But be advised that you are not to leave the city. I'm giving you into the custody of Detective Ellison. I understand you two are roommates?"

"We live together," Jim corrected mildly as he walked up to Blair and touched his shoulder. "You okay, Chief?"

"Get me out of here, please Jim," Blair whispered, the numbness of shock starting to wear off. Jim could feel the tremors in Blair's body under his hand.

"If you have anything further?" Jim asked politely, even as he pulled Blair toward the door. 

"We'll be in touch," the Fed assured him as he closed his notebook with a snap.

~~~~

"Bruenell is at Mercy Hospital. The bullet ripped right through his shoulder. He lost some blood, but no permanent damage was done. He'll be up and back in jail in two weeks." Jim made idle conversation as he drove them back to the loft. Blair was unresponsive, seemingly content to just stare out the window.

"Blair, you still with me?" Jim asked softly.

Slowly, the younger man nodded his head. "I'm still here," he replied softly, but remained quiet the rest of the way home.

Jim unlocked the front door and Blair followed him wordlessly inside. Jim closed the door and turned just in time to see Blair head for the stairs. "Chief, don't you want something to eat? You haven't had anything..."

"No food," Blair murmured with a shake of his head. 

"Okay." Jim was at a loss. The last time he'd seen Blair this listless was when Maya had walked out of his life. This situation was completely different, and he didn't know how to bring up the shooting. Well, tried and true always seemed to work best. "Did you want to talk about...?"

Blair interrupted him with a resounding, " _No_." Jim watched helplessly as Blair struggled with himself for a minute. Blair's voice was softer as he elaborated, "I can't talk about it, Jim. I just...can't."

"It helps," Jim reasoned calmly. "I know; I've talked to the department shrink enough times."

"Well, I'm not a cop, now am I?" Blair snapped. He stomped over to the couch and flung himself onto the cushions. "I'm just your average, non-violent citizen, who just happens to have shot someone."

"In self-defense," Jim reminded him.

Shock colored Blair's features before he exploded, "Tell that to my conscience! You think those three little words make a difference? Do you think they _matter_?" He held up his hands in a 'surrender' gesture, then immediately dropped them to cover his face. "I can't deal with this."

Jim felt his chest tightening in fear that he couldn't get Blair to see. Yes, it was a terrible thing to shoot someone. But it was even _more_ terrible for that someone to shoot _you_. A shudder ran through Jim's body at that. He couldn't think about it. He _wouldn't_ think about it. It had been so close. "Yes, you can, Chief. I know it's not much comfort, but Bruenell will recover. It's not like..." Jim mentally pulled out his gun and shot himself in the head. _Not good, Ellison. Not good._ He prayed that Blair had missed his slip. 

He dared a look at Blair, who had gone white. "It's not like I _killed_ him or anything, right, Jim?" He bolted off the couch and raced to the door. "I gotta get some air."

Panic rose in Jim's chest. "When will you be back?" he called before his lover disappeared through the open doorway.

Blair was quiet for a minute, then gruffly whispered, "Don't wait up." The slam of the door echoed in Jim's ears, then the silence overpowered it.

~~~

Jim sat on the couch, staring into nothing for a good half-hour before he cursed himself for his inactivity. He shoved himself off the couch impatiently. He was never one to just sit around. He grabbed towels out of the closet and took a hot shower, washing away the sweat and blood from the courthouse. His stomach growled, so he fixed himself something to eat and cleaned up the kitchen. When he glanced at the clock, he saw it was after six. He settled himself down on the couch again.

"Chief, where are you?" he asked the loft. He hadn't heard Blair's car start up, so that meant Blair was walking. If he deliberately went walking, there was a good possibility that he'd gone drinking. If Blair had even a thought of drinking, he always walked; he didn't want to drive while under the influence.

_'Non-violent citizen'_ echoed in Jim's head. Jim had known Blair was angry back at the courthouse. Everything that Bruenell said had been true; Blair was sick of being a victim. Bruenell's escape had pushed Blair over the edge and forced him to take drastic actions. But at what cost? It wasn't like Blair to not want to talk everything through. Blair was the verbal one in their relationship; Jim was the man of action. If Blair couldn't talk about this...

Jim heard footsteps approaching the door and mentally prepared what he would say to Blair...that vanished the second the door opened.

"Hey," Blair announced as he closed the door and tossed his keys into the basket on the table.

Jim did a quick assessment of his lover. The suit that had looked so crisp this morning was now wrinkled and seemed to hang off of him. Sometime while he was out, Blair had pulled his hair back into a ponytail and removed his earrings. Then Blair turned toward the kitchen, and Jim's breath caught.

"Blair?" Jim choked out. He blinked a few times, not believing what he was seeing.

"Got it in one," Blair replied with a faint smile.

"What did you...?" Jim found he couldn't finish the question. His eyes were fixated on his lover's hair. It wasn't pulled back. It was lying flat against his head, just a little longer than Jim's own. "What happened?"

Blair ran a hand over his clipped tresses and shrugged. "Felt like a change, that's all."

"But you cut your hair." Jim realized he was whining, but didn't care. He loved Blair's hair and Blair knew it. He'd had it trimmed a few times, but never anything this short. He looked so...so...normal.

"Very observant. Bet you didn't need your Sentinel abilities for that one." Blair walked to the freezer and rummaged through it. "Where is it...? Ahh, here it is." He pulled out a small cup of ice cream and went in search of a spoon.

Dumbly, Jim stood up and walked over to the kitchen island. He started to speak, then caught a glimpse of Blair's right hand. "Chief! What happened to you?" He tried to grab at Blair's hand, but Blair pulled back.

"It's nothing," Blair muttered.

"Nothing? Two of your fingers are black and blue!" An ugly suspicion nagged at the back of Jim's mind. "Did that happen in your fight with Bruenell?"

"No," Blair answered a bit too quickly. "I went to Club Doom and got in a fight with a guy over a pool table. I won." He shrugged and started eating.

He was lying, Jim knew. Why wouldn't Blair want him to know how he had gotten hurt? "You sure about that? Let me take a look."

Blair finished swallowing. "I said, it's nothing. Drop it."

What had gotten into his lover? Why was Blair acting so distant? Blair wasn't stupid, and Jim figured, by the looks of his hand, that Blair had to be in pain. "You could have broken your fingers. You should have them x-rayed."

"I know how to wrap broken fingers, Jim. I'll deal with it later," Blair brushed off his concern. 

"Deal with it now," Jim demanded. Why was Blair being so stubborn about this? He was _hurt_ ; he should get medical care.

Anger flared in Blair's eyes before he turned his back to Jim. "Later."

"Now." Jim put his hand on Blair's arm, trying to pull Blair to face him, but the younger man shook him off.

Blair threw his spoon into the sink and moved away from him. "Leave it! You don't have to mother me. I think I proved beyond the shadow of a doubt today that I can take care of myself." He shoved the ice cream back into the freezer and walked around Jim, careful not to touch him.

Jim stared after him in shock. Taking care of himself? Was that was this was about? Blair had done everything right that afternoon. A minimum amount of people were hurt, where there could have been multiple deaths had things gone wrong. Besides, Blair had protected Number One—himself, from harm. Couldn't he see that? Couldn't he understand? "If caring about you is 'mothering,' you'd better get used to it," Jim snarled, "Because I'm not going to stop."

"Rein it in, man," Blair ordered through clenched teeth. "Just leave me alone." He turned and headed straight for the couch. "I'm going to sleep down here, okay?" he asked, even as he settled down and cradled his head in the crook of his arm.

"Fine," Jim replied softly, trying to control his temper. "We'll talk in the morning." Hurt and angry, he took one last look at Blair before heading upstairs.

Jim crawled into the big, empty bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear Blair's even breathing downstairs, but it did nothing to help him sleep. Blair belonged up here with him. Tomorrow they would talk this through. _Tomorrow,_ Jim thought as sleep finally claimed him.

~~~

The next day, Jim emerged from his shower to find Blair packing his bags. His feet and heart stopped moving at the same time. "What do you think you're doing?" he choked out. 

Blair's hand hesitated a split second before it stuffed a pair of jeans into the bag. "I talked to Joel while you were in the shower. He said I could crash with him for a few days."

Random thoughts swirled around in Jim's head, none of them connecting to the actions of his lover. _This isn't happening_. He blinked as Blair shoved a handful of shirts into a bag. "Why do you have to leave? We can talk about Bruenell, Chief. I'll help you through it."

The hands stopped moving and Jim's heart returned to his chest, but then Blair spoke. "No, we can't, Jim. You're ex-military and a cop. You've been dealing with—this—for a long time. This is a new experience for me." For the first time, Blair looked directly into his eyes, and Jim winced. Infinite sadness and confusion muddied the bright sparkle that normally lit the blue depths. Jim knew he was the cause of that sadness and confusion. If he hadn't insisted that Blair come with him to the courthouse, this wouldn't be happening.

Blair's voice was a husky plea as he added, "I need time to sort it all out."

_This is all my fault. I'm a selfish asshole who nearly got his lover killed. If I didn't make him go to the courthouse yesterday, none of this would have happened. He can't take any more, so he's leaving. He's leaving me_. Jim could barely breathe around the lump in his throat. "You can't find time here?" _Don't leave._

Blair exploded into a frenzy of pacing. "Don't do this. Don't pull this hurt bullshit with me. I can't deal with it now. I have to work through my own problems. Do you understand that?" He stopped pacing directly in front of Jim, head tilted back and eyes pleading. "Can you understand that this is about me, and not about us?"

_No, I can't! This is about us because there is no more 'you'. No more 'me'. There is only us._ Jim's throat hurt as he rasped out, "What good is 'us' if I can't give you the help you need?"

Blair slowly closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Jim, please don't do this. I'll be back in a few days. I _promise_. But I need this time to myself." Without another word, Blair grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs.

For the second time in two days, the only sound in the loft was the sound of Blair leaving.

~~~~

Jim hadn't realized how quiet the bullpen could be. The phones were ringing, people were chatting and criminals were questioned, but it was still too quiet. There was no Blair beside him, offering up alternative solutions. There was no Blair teasing Megan about her accent. There was no Blair whispering Sentinel-soft the naughty things he would do to Jim when they got home.

Jim threw his pencil down in disgust. It was too damn quiet.

"Ellison, my office," Simon ordered as he passed by Jim's desk. Reluctantly, Jim rose to his feet and followed the captain into his office.

"Shut the door," Simon added as he settled behind the desk. Jim closed the door and took a seat opposite the Captain. "Where's Sandburg?"

Simon always cut direct to the chase. Something Jim usually admired, but not today. "I don't know where he is, sir." Jim offered no more, hoping Simon would be content with that. He should have known better.

"How's he taking the shooting? Has he talked about it?"

"He hasn't talked about it to me, sir. But I think he's taking it pretty well," he lied. 

Simon leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at his best detective. "No, he's not, and neither are you." Simon let that hang in the air before leaning back in his chair. "I just heard from the DA; she said Blair's cleared of any and all charges. The rest of Bruenell's henchmen were caught outside the courthouse and are in custody. Bruenell is out of surgery and under guard."

Jim couldn't get excited about the arrests or Blair's clearance. He replied automatically, "That's all very good news, sir."

"It's all bullshit if I have the two of you out of commission. Now, where is Sandburg?"

Jim wasn't good at lying, and Simon knew it. He closed his eyes and answered, "I ... don't know, sir," preparing for Simon's outrage.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You live with the man," his captain growled. 

Jim took a deep breath. "Blair... is staying with Taggart tonight, sir. He said he needed some time to sort things out."

"Perfect. Just perfect." Simon bit down on his cigar in frustration. "I need you back at work, Jim. Can you handle your caseload without Sandburg?"

It was a legitimate question, though it cut Jim in two. _He_ was the detective. _He_ was the Sentinel. "Of course I can, sir," Jim ground out through clenched teeth. "I am fully capable of performing my duties without," he choked on the words, "my partner."

Simon glared at him for another minute, then nodded. "There are some case files on your desk. Look through them and get going. Criminals don't wait for us to catch them."

"Yes, sir," Jim replied as he stood up. He turned to leave when he heard Simon's soft voice.

"Jim?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If I see Sandburg, I'll talk to him."

Simon was a good friend to them both. He alone knew of their special relationship as Sentinel and Guide, and so knew the importance of Blair at Jim's side. Plus, he was supportive of their relationship...if not entirely on a professional level, definitely on a friendship one. Jim's voice was thick as he replied softly, "Thank you, sir."

~~~~

All things considered, the day went by smoothly. Jim didn't know what to expect; that somehow time would stand still without Blair at his side? The world would halt while he and Blair tried to muddle through their relationship? That criminals would, just for once, stay at home and let him have a day's peace? 

Jim grunted as his eyes scanned the latest report on a rash of burglaries on the west side. He made some notes and placed a call to Records for some past case files. He bought a glazed butternut donut as he got himself a fresh cup of coffee. He talked briefly with Conner about the serial killer case she had been assigned, offering up some tips that might help her along. He joked around with Rafe and H, but managed to avoid Joel. It wasn't hard; Joel didn't come in until after eleven.

Jim had to restrain himself from running over and asking how Blair was. Only a handful of people at the station knew about his and Blair's relationship, Joel being one of them. Jim didn't like the idea of asking someone else about his lover, even if he was dying to know if Blair was okay.

Joel saved him the trouble.

"Jim," Joel nodded as he walked up to Jim's desk.

"Joel," Jim replied cautiously. "How're things this morning?"

"Okay," Joel answered distractedly. "He asked me... Blair, that is, to tell you he got his hand looked at."

Jim released a deep breath then nodded. "Good. How is he?"

"Hairline fractures along the last two," Joel held up his fingers and waved the appropriate ones. "They taped him up and he headed over to Rainier. He said he'd be there all day."

Jim had to fight from strangling Joel and his sympathetic tone. He shouldn't be hearing about this second-hand. Blair should be telling him directly. Forcing himself to stay calm, Jim answered, "That's fine. I'll give him a call later."

Joel hesitated, then said softly, "He said it might be hard to get ahold of him. He's going to be busy all day."

Jim closed his eyes and nodded, listening until Joel turned and left his immediate area. He absently rubbed at his eyes, hoping to ease the headache he could feel starting. Blair was going to avoid him until he sorted this out. What if, during their time apart, Blair thought about their relationship as well? He knew, absolutely _knew_ that Blair loved him. But what if that wasn't enough? Blair had changed since yesterday morning. What if he didn't want to be in a relationship with a cop anymore? What if he didn't want to live in fear of his life anymore? What if he wanted someone safer, someone who wouldn't put his life at risk every single waking minute of every day? What if Blair couldn't live with him anymore?

A sharp crack startled him, and he looked down at the remains of the pencil he had snapped in two. He surreptitiously glanced around the bullpen, but no one seemed to be looking at him. He threw the pencil in the trash and started shuffling files on his desk. Blair was the only one with those answers. It hurt to admit it, but it was the truth. Until he heard from Blair, he would just put it out of his mind.

His phone rang and he hesitated briefly before picking it up, hoping despite himself that he would hear Blair's voice on the other end. His heart settled back in his chest...it was not Blair, but rather, a lead on the burglaries. He grabbed his coat and was on his way to question the suspect—without his partner.

~~~~~~~

With a sigh of relief, Blair turned and locked the door to his office. He dumped his backpack next to his desk as he flopped into his chair. His confused gaze slid around the room. Why didn't his office look any different? Same papers waiting to be graded. Same files stacked on top of the cabinet. Same books on the shelves.

He thought something should have changed. After all, he had shot a man. Not an every day occurrence for a graduate student. Not an _any_ day occurrence for one Blair Sandburg. He raked his hands through his hair and started as he didn't feel his normal curls or ponytail. The slightly sick feeling he'd had in his gut since yesterday churned full force back into existence. Cutting his hair had been an impulsive act. He still wasn't sure why he'd done it. Because of what Bruenell said? Because of what he'd done? Maybe it was an act of defiance against the criminal element. Maybe it was because his long hair gave the impression of a weaker man. Maybe it was just because of the tone Bruenell used when he advanced on him. It wasn't the first time a perp had taunted him, but there was something sincere in Bruenell's voice that left Blair shaking.

_"Did you think I would leave anyone alive up there? My man just blew his head off."_

"No," Blair whispered hoarsely. He shoved himself back from his desk and was on his feet in seconds, pacing. He had to move; he couldn't sit still. He had too much unresolved anger that needed an outlet. He felt the gun in his hand again. He felt...he wanted... _"He's dead. You're dead."_

"No!" he told himself forcefully, willing the memories away. "I do _not_ want to relive this." His pacing increased—around the desk, to the window, a sharp left back around the desk and to the interior wall. Around and around until he was interrupted by a knock at his door. 

"What?" Blair snapped as he stormed over to unlock the door. He threw it wide open and glared at the person on the other side.

The petite woman took a step back. "Mr. Sandburg? I'm in your Ancient Civilizations class. The one that started twenty minutes ago?"

His eyes flew to the clock—it was one-thirty. "Shit," he muttered as he wiped his face with his hand. "I don't suppose anyone is left?"

"I'm afraid not," she offered apologetically. "You know the rule; a TA gets ten minutes; a doctor, fifteen."

"And for anyone, after twenty it's canceled," Blair added ruefully. He shrugged. "I shouldn't have been here anyway. I should have called someone to cover for me," he admitted absently as he headed back over to his chair.

The woman followed him back to his desk. "You mean about yesterday?"

Blair's hands involuntarily curled into fists and he hissed at the pain in his right hand. His last two fingers were braced to hold them in place while they healed. He flashed to Bruenell's crushing grip as he tried to steal the gun away, their brief struggle with it, the kickback as the gun fired...

"Mr. Sandburg? I'm sorry, it isn't any of my business..."

"Huh?" Blair blinked up at the now pale woman. "That's okay," he answered automatically. _No, it isn't, but I don't want to discuss this with anyone, let alone one of my students._ "Is there anything in particular you came to see me about? Other than reminding me I missed class, that is?" he said as kindly as he could. He couldn't even see in front of his face; his vision was full of Bruenell's smug face as he proclaimed Jim a dead man. The rage that had coursed through Blair at that exact instant flared up again, and all he wanted was...

_Don't go there!_ he ordered himself, jerking his attention back to the woman in front of him, who was still talking.

"...see how you were doing. You're kind of famous around here, riding around with the cops and getting right into the heat of things. Drastic three-sixty from the academic life, isn't it? How do you deal with it?"

"I don't," he muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry, but I really don't want to talk about this now." He stood and with as much courtesy as he could muster, ushered her to the door. "Thanks for stopping by and asking how I was. I'll see you in class Wednesday."

"Okay. Mr. Sandburg?" She was biting her lip. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest. You're well respected around here, and a lot of us think you're pretty cool. We wouldn't want to...you know, lose you, or something." She shrugged and studied the floor.

Blair swallowed hard. _I'd hate to lose me, too_. His voice was soft as he answered, "Thank you. Teachers rarely get thought of as 'cool' and hardly any are respected, so it's very cool that you think that. You do think that, don't you?" he teased lightly.

Her mouth opened in astonishment, then she laughed. "'Course I do! I don't say anything I don't mean."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

"Cool." Blair couldn't keep the small grin off his face. _I feel like Sally Field all of a sudden. They like me! They really like me._

_"Right about now, Detective Ellison is eating a gun."_

Blair's stomach plummeted to his feet and he made a hasty goodbye. As he shut the door, he leaned his forehead against it and fought back tears. When would Bruenell _shut up_ already? 

_"Are you expecting a rescue by Ellison? I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? He's not coming."_

"No!" Blair shoved himself away from the door and started pacing again. The walls started closing in around him— _trapped!_ —he grabbed his backpack and tore out of his office, down the corridor and out into the sunlight. The panic started to subside, but he didn't stop running until he had made it halfway across campus. He made his way to the football field and hopped up the stands until he was near the top. He dropped to the metal bench warmed by the sun and quietly caught his breath.

_"Blair."_ The voice wore Bruenell's face. 

"Go away."

_"What are you afraid of?"_

"You."

_"Me? I'm in the hospital, recovering from a bullet wound you gave me. I can't get to you."_

"You already did," Blair admitted.

_"Not in the way I wanted to."_

"STOP! Just shut up and leave me alone!" 

_"Why did you shoot me? You didn't have to shoot me, you know."_

"You're a criminal. You had to be stopped."

_"You don't like guns. You hate them. Yet you used one against me."_

Tears prickled behind Blair's eyes. "I'd do it again."

_"You bastard. You heartless, cruel bastard. Only thinking of yourself. What about me? I was bleeding!"_

"Of course I was only thinking of myself! You said you'd..."

_"What? Killed Ellison? And what if I had?"_

"Don't even joke about it."

_"No, let's explore this. Say I had Ellison killed. What would you have done?_ "

"You're not real," he breathed. "You're not real."

_"Come on; it's not a hard question. You had the gun. You thought I'd killed your partner. What would you have done?"_

He couldn't answer that. Wouldn't answer that. Wouldn't even acknowledge the possibilities of that question.

_"Why not? What are you afraid of?"_

"I'm not afraid."

_"You're scared shitless."_

"All right, you fucking bastard. I'm scared shitless, okay? Are you happy now?"

_"Why?"_

"Why, what? Why are you happy? Because you're a sadist."

_"No, why are you scared? You never answered that question."_

"Because I don't want to, and I don't have to."

_"Touchy. It's a simple question. Why are you scared?"_

"Because...because I wanted you _dead_. That was _not_ me. I don't know _who_ that person was." Blair's voice dropped to an agonized whisper. "It _couldn't_ have been me. I think twice about killing spiders, for God's sake. That wasn't me."

_"'He's dead. You're dead.' Your exact words."_

"Oh god, it was me." Blair swallowed around the lump in his throat and repeated, "I'm afraid of me. Of what I did. What I was capable of doing. Oh god, I wanted him dead." Blair curled in on himself and let loose the tears he'd been fighting back for almost a full day.

~~~~

Jim wiped the sweat from his eyes and focused on the building across the street. His tip had lead him to the warehouse district along the waterfront. His eyes were burning from the constant strain of peering through the darkened and boarded-up windows. It didn't help that a light mist had started, obscuring his view even more. "I wish Blair..." he whispered to himself, then stopped. He had no right to ask that Blair accompany him on police business. He'd put his lover in too many dangerous situations over the years, and he had nearly lost Blair one too many times. An anthropology professor shouldn't have to risk his life with cops. Especially this cop.

"No more," he vowed. He'd talk to Simon when he got back to the station and get Blair's observer status revoked. If Blair wasn't allowed in the line of fire, he'd be safe. No more Kincaid, no more Lash, no more Brackett...

Logic reared its ugly head, reminding Jim that not every bad thing that happened to Blair happened because of his association with cops. It just seemed like it sometimes. Some things happened because of life in modern America. Some things happened because Blair was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And some things happened because Blair had attached himself to a Sentinel; it was his life's work. Blair had saved his life that day on campus, in more ways than one. And Jim had been repaying him ever since.

He wiped his wet face once again.

Damn, but his eyes burned.

~~~~

The once-warm metal bench had turned cold. Blair took one last shaky breath and sat up. He glanced around the stadium, relieved that there was no one on the field to witness his moment of weakness. While he was a lot more open with his feelings than others, it still wasn't 'cool' to bawl like a baby in front of other guys. Naomi would say that he needed the emotional release—which he had. But now his skin felt tight where the tears had dried, he had a cramp in his back from the bench, and his stomach was protesting the lack of food it had received recently. He pulled himself together the best he could and headed to one of the dorm cafeterias. A detour to the bathroom removed the traces of his tears, and a sandwich and some chips helped alleviate the hunger pangs. His back was still a bit stiff—he had forgotten he'd slept on the couch the night before.

_Jim_ , his mind instantly called. His fist crumbled the bag of remaining chips. Just thinking of Jim brought everything back. The courthouse. The goon's arms wrapped around his chest as he held a gun to his neck. Bruenell. Their struggle over the gun. Shooting Bruenell. Firing the gun a second time, missing Bruenell—damn the luck.

His stomach rolled, protesting the food he had just consumed. Pushing himself away from the table, he headed out into the sunshine once more. He breathed deeply; he would never get enough of fresh air and sunlight. It always calmed him and he sorely needed calming. He started walking aimlessly, caught up in his thoughts.

It was his secret that he remembered what had happened when he OD'd on Golden. He remembered shooting up the parking garage. He remembered Jim, blind though he was, talking him down from the hood of that car. All he wanted to do then was protect Jim; keep him from getting burned by the fire people. But Jim had done the protecting; Jim risked his life to save him.

A shudder rippled through Blair's frame as one rescue blended into another. It wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped; Kincaid had been the first. Okay, so Kincaid could have taken anyone hostage, but it had been _him_ , and Jim had jumped on that 'copter as though Blair really were his partner.

Lash, however, had intentionally come after him, and Jim had saved his life. No, he did more than that; Jim had practically shoved Lash through the wall. Jim's rage was a living thing. It had scared the shit out of him, but at the same time, Jim was furious because of him. Because Lash had hurt _him_. 

It was funny; when it was happening, when Blair was chained up and taunting Lash, he knew he would live. All he had to do was keep talking, and he knew Jim would find him. 

Just like he knew he would live when Bruenell confronted him.

_"Are you expecting a rescue by Ellison? He's not coming."_

Blair's steps faltered. He glanced around and noticed he was near the faculty parking lot. He closed the distance to his car and tore out of the lot, wanting to get far away from madmen, guns, and Cascade.

~~~~

Blair finally pulled to the side of the road. He was in Cascade National Forest, some fifty miles out of the city. He locked the car and randomly chose one of the many trails throughout the trees to follow. The air was crisp and clean, the sounds and smells of the city far behind. He took a deep breath, trying to relax.

Unfortunately, in the stillness all he could dwell on was the day before. Forcing his mind away from Bruenell, it latched onto the next thing it could think of—Lash. Well, not exactly the man, but the aftermath and what it had lead to. It was the first time Jim had openly shown his feelings toward him, and despite his hatred of Lash, without that danger to his life, Blair knew that Jim would have taken forever and a day to admit his feelings toward him. As it was, Jim had only uttered two words, and Blair had felt his world shift for the better.

Blair hadn't been able to move once he regained consciousness. The drug must have done something to his muscle coordination. Sheer terror had motivated his actions. When Lash had removed the gag, Blair had used his most formidable weapon; words. Without words, he had been just another helpless victim. But he knew Lash's history and used it against the psycho. He knew that the more he got below the delusions, the more the real David Lash would emerge. Not the adult, but the hurt child. It had worked almost too well. But Blair kept talking, kept taunting, kept hope alive. He knew somewhere deep in his soul that Jim's senses would pick up the sound of his voice, and he knew Jim would take Lash down.

He just hadn't expected Jim to _literally_ take him down, through the floor. Blair's heart had nearly stopped as he strained to hear anything from the two men below him. There was nothing but dead silence for so long, then five shots rang out, causing him to jump.

"Please be okay, Jim," he had whispered over and over, tears filling his eyes. He'd pulled at his restraints, desperate to find out what had happened. He had barely been coherent when Jim returned to the room, gun still dangling from his hand, lacerations and contusions all over his exposed skin.

"Jim! Jim, are you all right, man? Where's that fucker? Is he dead? Tell me he's dead!" he cried hysterically as he pulled at the chains encircling his wrists. 

Jim didn't answer him. He just tucked the gun behind his back and headed toward him.

Blair's eyes widened as he noticed the slight limp. "Jim? Jim, you're hurt, man!"

Jim held up a bloody key as he knelt and began to unlock the shackles around Blair's ankles.

"Jim? Come on, man, tell me what happened! How bad is it? Did he shoot you?" Jim's silence was driving him crazy.

Once his feet were free, Jim stood up and motioned to his wrists. Jim hands—they were shaking. Nothing phased Jim; what the hell had happened? Maybe the fall had affected his nervous system. Blair held up his hands to give Jim better access, but once they were freed, Jim gently pushed his hands back to his lap.

"Jim, is everything okay? You zoning or something? Jim?" Blair asked nervously as he looked up at his roommate.

Words failed him as Jim's hands came up to rest on his cheeks, thumbs moving gently against the beard-roughened flesh. "You okay?" The voice was almost unrecognizable. Rough and deep with emotion; it was something Blair had never heard in Jim's voice before. At least, not directed at him.

Jim's eyes finally met his, and Blair inhaled sharply. He nodded, unsure what that fierceness was in Jim's eyes. Was it directed at him? Was Jim mad he'd been kidnapped? He had to blink a few times; Jim's image was wavering, like he was looking at him through water. Shit, the drug. He'd probably swallowed some of it. He didn't want to feel like this again! He didn't want to think movement, and not be able to do it.

Either the panic showed in his eyes, or Jim was a mind reader. "Did you swallow any of that shit?" he asked quietly.

Blair's mouth felt like cotton, but he forced out the words. "Tried not to. Had to...some, though." He tried to lock gazes with Jim, but had to settle for an unfocused look in the right direction. "He was me."

"No, he wasn't you. I heard what you said to him. You were right; he could never be you. There's only one Blair Sandburg, and that's you."

For some reason, that made Blair want to smile. At the time, he'd thought it was some effect of the drug, but hindsight provided him with an alternative answer. As Jim had declared him the one, true Blair, Jim had wrapped his arms around his guide and held on tight. Blair's arms were tingling from numbness, but he managed to get both arms around Jim and grab his own wrist to lock his arms around Jim's waist. Even the kevlar pressed into his face couldn't ruin this moment for him. It was solid, warm and safe. _Jim_ was solid, warm and safe.

Jim had let him go as backup and a medical team arrived. EMS checked Blair out, putting some ointment around his mouth where the gag had rubbed his skin raw. He lay back against the doorjamb of the ambulance as they checked his vitals. His muscles had felt like water.

"Will he need to be admitted?" Jim had asked quietly from Blair's left. He hadn't moved very far from Blair's side, only allowing enough room for the paramedics to do their job.

"There's nothing we can really do for him. He only ingested a bit of the drug; it's working its way through his system now. He just needs rest and a lot of fluids to flush his system. He should be fine by morning. Does he have anyone to watch him tonight?"

"Me," came the strong, determined answer, and Blair had imagined a stupid grin crossing his features. "He's my roommate; I'll keep a close eye on him. Is there anything special I should watch for, any side effects?"

Blair's brain had felt fuzzy, but he'd forced himself to speak. "Sp'cial 'fects?" The adrenaline rush had fizzled, and Blair slipped into semi-peaceful sleep.

That night had been a blur of soothing welcome touches mixed with offending ones. Blair hadn't been sure who was tending him half the time: Lash or Jim. But morning brought light and clarity, and Blair had felt ashamed as he recalled some of the things he had done to Jim in his hazy recovery.

_He sat up and frowned at his surroundings. He was up in Jim's bedroom, in Jim's bed. Had he been up there all night? He couldn't remember. He put his feet on the floor, intending to go apologize to Jim, when his eyes fell on a chair propped against the wall opposite the bed. Jim was scrunched down, head cradled in a hand that had to be numb, snoring softly. Blair debated whether to wake Jim or not, then the Sentinel grunted and shifted uncomfortably. Decision made, Blair helped Jim to his feet and guided him to the bed._

_"Thank you," Blair whispered to the exhausted man. How had Jim known? It was Jim's bed, yet he had chosen to sleep in a chair, leaving room for Blair to restlessly toss all night. He guessed Jim had experience in calming kidnap victims down. Waking up next to Jim any other day would have been wonderful, but if Blair had woken up that morning with Jim so much as within arm's reach, he would have freaked. He swallowed hard against his dry throat as his eyes took in the sight of a sleeping Jim. This wasn't a good idea. Jim was moving at his own pace, and Blair could respect that. But sometimes when Jim's guard was down, like now, Blair just wanted to kiss him. He hesitated, then leaned close and let his lips brush Jim's temple. It would have to do for now._

_He swallowed again and winced at the pain it caused. Right now, he wanted water, OJ, beer; anything wet at this point. He stepped lightly across the floor, trying not to wake Jim. He caught himself from tumbling headfirst down the stairs as he stepped on a broken figurine. He'd forgotten the state of the loft and it shocked him to see it._

_"I don't know why I'm surprised that you fought back against Lash."_

_The voice startled Blair, and he whirled to face his roommate. Jim was looking out over the living room, and Blair wasn't sure that Jim was even fully awake._

_"I guess ... I think ... I stereotyped you from the first moment I saw you. You were just an academic wanting to get his Ph.D., not really in touch with the real world." Blair inhaled sharply as Jim's piercing gaze settled on him. No doubt about it; Jim was wide awake and walking toward him. "I'm beginning to see that you're much more than that. You fought like a hellcat if that's," he nodded toward the overturned chairs, "any indication. You defied Lash even while he had you tied up; you fought against him even when he forced that shit into you." Jim reached out and smoothed Blair's tangled hair as he continued, "I found you by the sound of your voice, did you know that? I had narrowed the area down to the warehouse district, but I wouldn't have gotten to you in time if you hadn't kept talking. And hearing you defy Lash...telling him he would never be you...that took guts. I know you were scared. So was I. I would have killed him with my bare hands if anything had happened to you. I'm proud of you, Chief. Of what you did. You're going to be fine. Just fine."_

Blair had trusted that Jim was right, but he didn't feel fine just now. Nothing in his life had prepared for him shooting someone. He'd subdued perps before; he'd even held guns before. But he hadn't fired one until he was hyped up on Golden, and he didn't like the experience. He liked it even less when he shot Bruenell. He didn't even want to think of firing the M16 again; the visit with Jim's uncle Rucker was surreal enough as it was.

He leaned weakly against a tall spruce and closed his eyes. How did Jim deal with it? How did Jim live with the fact that he had shot someone, even if that someone was a criminal? He knew Jim had felt guilty after accidentally shooting a security guard—why else would he have lost his senses? —but what about the bad guys? He'd seen stoic Jim at gruesome crime scenes and he'd seen emotional Jim when Incacha died. How did Jim distinguish in his mind? How did one seem 'okay' while the other affected him deeply? Did he feel this... desire to really _get_ the bad guys? To make them pay? And if he did, how did he control it?

Unfortunately, those questions could only be answered by Jim, and Blair wasn't sure he could face him just yet.

_"Coward."_

Blair scowled. "Didn't I tell you to go away?"

_"Like I'd ever listen to the likes of you."_

"What do you _want_?" Blair growled. "What will it take to make you go away?"

_"I want to see you."_

"You're out of your mind."

_"I was right. Coward."_

"I'm not afraid of you."

_"Then come see me."_

"I don't have to."

_"Don't have to, or don't want to?"_

"Same thing."

_"Not quite. You see, if you don't have to, then this talking to yourself just looks incredibly stupid. If you need to, then you have unresolved issues."_

He snorted. "Unresolved issues? You sound like Naomi."

_"Wonder why? Couldn't be because this is all taking place inside your head, could it?"_

"I don't need to see you. I have nothing to say to you."

_"How about owning up to what you did?"_

"What I did?" Blair stuttered in disbelief. "I defended myself! How can I own up to something like that?"

_"You wanted me dead. Own up to that."_

Blair didn't have an answer to that, and finally the voice in his head was silent. The sounds of the forest around him burst to life, startling him out of his reverie. "You're going back to jail; you can't do anything to me anymore."

_"Really? Then why are we still having this conversation?"_

"Fuck off!" Logically, Blair knew 'Bruenell' was just a form of his conscience trying to communicate with him. Emotionally, it was crippling. Why did he feel this? Why couldn't he let it go? Why did Bruenell have to threaten Jim's life? Why couldn't it just have been him? Why didn't Jim get there sooner? Why? Why? Why? All he had were questions. No answers. Two men had answers, but he didn't know if he was up to facing either of them. One knew him better than he knew himself. The other...the other knew him better than Blair had originally thought. And it did scare him.

"Shit," Blair repeated softly to the forest. "SHIT!" he yelled louder, his voice echoing in the forest, startling some birds overhead. His fist pounded the rough bark of the tree behind him. He knew what he had to do. He just didn't know if he had the guts to do it.

~~~~

Jim dragged himself back to the loft after a useless day spent staking out the warehouse. With no one entering the building, he had no probable cause to search the place for stolen goods. That meant a lot of long hours watching the place until the perps returned. Long hours away from Sandburg.

With a start, Jim remembered that Blair wouldn't be home that night anyway. Even though the night was mildly warm, a cold chill chased down Jim's spine. What a time to realize that he hadn't been without Blair's presence since his partner had moved in. Not for any extended period of time, anyway. They just seemed to hang out together. Blair did cop things and Jim did university things. Soon they were doing 'Jim and Blair' things. Hitting the bars, catching a flick or the occasional Jags game; things that didn't have to do with either of their jobs. Lately, they had been going out to dinner at some restaurant that Blair usually picked, but Jim had offered up his share of 'experimental' food as well. They were doing more 'couple' things rather than 'buddy' things, though they still did those as well. Hell, Jim admitted to himself, they breathed the same _air_. They were more a true couple than any married people Jim had ever met.

Home didn't sound as appealing as it had when he knew Blair would be there. Jim's footsteps echoed in the emptiness, taunting him. The crash of keys tossed into the basket caused him to wince. He immediately picked them back up, turned around and left the loft. He couldn't be there; not right now. On autopilot, he slid behind the wheel of his truck and pulled into the street. His aimless driving led him to the waterfront, and he parked in the shadow of a building.

Why couldn't he get Blair to open up to him? He could speak to senators and mayors and criminals without hesitation, but when it came to his lover, Jim second-guessed himself. Neither of them had much experience with men, and that was part of it. Add to that, the sexual aspect of their relationship was still new. They both still had the occasional jealous twinge or blushing bout when the teasing at work got a bit too close to home, but they were working on it. Teasing...that reminded him...Blair had insisted on a courtship.

Jim smiled as he remembered how Blair had crossed his arms and declared that since Jim had expressed his feelings first, Jim had to court _him_. He'd spluttered and babbled for a good ten minutes, trying to connect the word 'courtship' to the very _manly_ man in front of him. Finally, he settled for a quiet, "Fine, Sandburg. You want to be courted? I'll court you."

_He smiled triumphantly at Blair's astonishment. "I didn't mean it, man. You don't have to; I was..."_

_"No," Jim had cut him off softly. "You're right. Just because we're two men doesn't mean all the rules change. I've stated my intentions toward you_— _" Blair blushed at his leer_ — _"now it's time for me to...well, ask you out."_

_Blair stared at him blankly. "Ask me out? As in, a date?"_

_"That is what people do when they're attracted to each other, Sandburg. They go out on dates."_

_"Yeah, but, isn't it kind of, I don't know, silly? I mean, we live together. It's not like you'll be left on the doorstep after it's over." _

_"No, but I'll probably be left outside your room door," Jim admitted with a small smirk._

_His smirk died away at the sudden predatory gleam in Blair's eyes. "You never know. I've gotten lucky on first dates before."_

_Jim just blinked at his partner, a thousand possibilities from that answer swirling around in his head. His body responded eagerly, but his brain hesitated. "Don't you want to take this slow? I mean, that's the reason I wanted to, well, date first. Progress into it naturally."_

_"Progress into what," Blair's eyes dropped to Jim's crotch, "naturally?" _

_Jim had to force himself to think of an answer as the blood started vacating his brain and began taking up residence somewhat further south. "This. Us. Together. I don't want to rush you or force you or anything. I wanted to give you time to...adjust." Jim's last word ended faintly as Blair reached down to shift his own growing erection._

_"I think I'm adjusted enough, Jim," Blair said huskily. "I'd like us...together." His voice dropped to a whisper, "Naked preferably, but I'll settle for clothing optional."_

_"Sandburg," Jim groaned, trying to rein in his urges. "I thought you wanted to be courted?"_

_"I do," Blair answered with a coy grin. "You asked me out. We've already had dinner. We're back at your place and we're flirting. What do you want to do now?"_

_Blair's wide-eyed expression of innocence didn't fool Jim for one second. Jim had intended to seduce Blair; now it looked like he was the seduceé._

_"What do you do after dinner, Jim? When you've taken your date back to your place and gotten comfortable?" Blair pushed his hair out of his eyes and shot a kilowatt grin up at Jim. "Tell me, Jim," he urged._

_"I_ — _I offer them a drink," Jim spat out hastily, ordering his mind away from other images it had forced into his thoughts, such as Blair stretched out on his bed, Blair stretched out on the couch, Blair stretched out on top of him..._

_Blair made a show of looking around Jim into the kitchen. "I don't see any wine chilling. Maybe in the fridge?"_

_Too caught up in Blair's seductive tone, Jim just shook his head._

_"Hm, no wine. Well, we'll skip the drinks then. What comes next?"_

_ I do _ _, whispered through Jim's mind. He winced in pain at the sudden aching hardness in his pants. "Um, dancing. Sometimes dancing. Usually just talking."_

_Blair tilted his head. "I don't hear any music, so we'll forgo dancing this time. And I think we've talked enough, haven't we, Jim?"_

_Sometime during Blair's teasing words, he had moved closer to Jim. Now, Blair's hands burned a path from Jim's stomach to his throat, and Jim's breath caught in his chest._

_"Sandburg, please..." Jim rasped out, not sure if he wanted Blair to stop or keep going until they were both on the floor._

_"I want to know what you taste like," Blair murmured huskily as he pulled Jim's head down. Blair's lips hovered a breath away from Jim's, increasing the tension between them. Jim grabbed Blair's arms and tried to force him closer...had to touch him, had to...but Blair locked his arms and refused to move._

_"Not yet," Blair breathed, and Jim moaned. The heat from Blair's lips was tantalizing close, too close; too far away. "Not yet."_

_"Please," Jim repeated as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. The ache was incredible. Unbelievable. It was consuming him, and he couldn't do anything to stop it..._

_Blair moved a fraction of an inch, and his lips brushed Jim's. Just the barest of touches on the surface; the deepest of touches within Jim._

_Jim took a deep breath and pulled back before he ravaged Blair right where he stood. "God."_

_Blair licked his lips and whispered, "Wow."_

_"Did you feel that?"_

_Blair nodded as he stared intently at Jim's lips._

_"What_ — _" Jim's question was cut off as Blair's mouth closed over his. A flick of that quick tongue, and Jim's mouth opened to capture it. Liquid fire coursed through Jim's veins, his stomach clenched with overwhelming need. He needed Blair, needed this connection...needed this heat..._

_Blair jerked back unexpectedly, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over. "I wanted to make sure it wasn't a fluke; a one time thing," he explained breathlessly. "I mean, it was just a kiss!"_

_Jim caught his breath and tried to grasp what his roommate was implying. "Was it?"_

_"Was it, what? A kiss? Yeah. Mouths were involved; tongues were involved." Blair licked at his lower lip. "Even a few teeth were involved, I think. Definitely a kiss."_

_"But just a kiss?" Jim stared helplessly at Blair, hoping he wasn't about to lose one of the best things that had ever happened to him. "Don't you understand? I trusted you with my Sentinel abilities. I trusted you with my life." _

_Blair piped up with a puzzled, "I trust you too, man."_

_Jim took a deep breath and took the plunge. It was now or never. "Now I'm going to trust you with my heart."_

_Dead silence. Blair's mouth was moving, but his vocal cords weren't producing any sound. Jim watched as the Adam's apple bobbed hard, then a choked, "Ohgod," spilled from Sandburg's lips._

_"I thought...I thought you felt the same way," Jim growled with disbelief. "You said you felt the same way."_

_Blair took a step back, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, about dating. Nothing heavy, just some fun ..." _

_Angry at himself, Jim turned to walk out of Blair's room._

_He was surprised as Blair yanked his arm and spun him back around. "Don't walk out on me, dammit! I wasn't...I didn't...That didn't come out right." He tangled his hands in his hair and paced in front of Jim. "I'm attracted to you. I wanted us to go out, get to know each other a little better, have some fun. Then that...kiss...Jim, it floored me. The intensity was just...and I felt it down to my toes, man, and that is so not normal. What does it mean?" _

_"I think it means you're attracted to me," Jim answered curtly. At least Blair admitted he felt something connect between them, too. That was a good start._

_Blair's hands were punctuating every word. "No. No way man, it's much more than that. That is the part that scares me." _

_"Haven't you ever been in love before?" he asked quietly. Jim thought it was a simple statement; he'd seen Sandburg with more than his fair share of women. Surely he had serious feelings for some of them?_

_"I don't know," Blair answered quietly. "I thought I was, almost every time...you know," Blair waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his bed, "but that...never anything like that, man. And it was just a kiss." _

_Blair's bewilderment at it all cut through Jim like a knife. Blair really was still a kid if he didn't think a kiss could convey intense feelings. "That's just it. It wasn't just a kiss. Don't you get it yet, Sandburg?" Jim pulled the shorter man to him, letting his hands rub gently down Blair's arms. He leaned in close, lips barely brushing Blair's, and whispered, "I love you, Blair," just before his lips closed over Blair's._

_Blair instantly shoved Jim away. "Jim," he began, but Jim cut him off._

_"No, you listen to me. Either we're going to do this, or we aren't. I'm tired of playing games." Jim knew he was pushing, but couldn't stop himself. Blair had gone from teasing to flirting to dashing his hopes in the space of two minutes. He'd had enough. "Make up your mind, now." _

_"I can't!" Blair shouted back as he flailed his hands in the air. "Do you know how patiently I've been waiting for you? And here you are, not even one date yet, declaring your love for me! Way, way too fast for me. I feel like you'll disintegrate if I so much as breathe too hard." As Blair calmed down, his voice dropped to a whisper. "You're not real. Not like this; not yet. I need time to process this. You said you wanted to take it slow. Let's actually try that, okay? I'll still be here," he added._

_Jim's jaw slowly unclenched as he processed Blair's words. "Okay," he relented. He let out a breath. "Okay," he repeated. Blair's smile was worth it._

_"I know you're geared more toward action than I am, but man, when you set your mind on something, you are single-minded. That must have served you well in Peru."_

_Sheepishly, Jim admitted, "It did."_

_"Yeah, well, you need to tone it down a bit and remember that you agreed to court me." Blair poked him in the chest again. "Put your mind to that."_

_"I will," Jim promised._

_Blair still seemed surprised. "You will?"_

_"Sure. I meant what I said, San_ — _Blair. But don't expect hearts and flowers," he warned._

_Blair snorted. "From you? No way. I'd totally freak if you did that."_

_Jim couldn't help but grin. "You wouldn't object to candles now and again, would you? If they lit dinner?"_

_"Dinner candles are good," Blair agreed. "And my ring size is ten."_

_"Sandburg!" he growled, knowing it was a tease but not wanting Blair to get away with it._

_"Joking! Just joking," Blair promised. His tone and manner grew serious. "I can't help it; this was just...intense. I need a little levity." Intense blue eyes stared up into intense blue. Blair's voice was rough as he admitted, "Have you ever wanted something for so long that you didn't think you'd ever get it, and there it was, handed to you on your birthday? That's kind of how I feel right now."_

_Jim was quiet for a minute, understanding the fear that Blair was working through. He'd had to work through it himself, more than once. He nodded, a slow smile breaking over his face. "I'm your birthday present?" The intensity lowered between them at Jim's teasing_ _tone._

_Relief shone on Blair's face. "Something like that."_

_"Want to unwrap me?" Jim asked hopefully._

_Blair looked as if he wanted to run his hands along Jim's chest. "Someday. Someday soon. Will you wait until I'm ready?" _

_"I guess I'll have to," he said softly._

_"Jim..." Blair began exasperatedly._

_Jim chuckled and ordered, "Sandburg, come here."_

It had taken a lot of hard work to get through both their hangups, and now it might all disappear. All because of one bullet. All because of Bruenell.

Jim started the truck and headed to the hospital. Bruenell had ruined someone's life for the last time.

~~~~~

Jim instinctively turned up his hearing as the elevator arrived on the floor where Bruenell was. A quick sweep of the hallway revealed the cop on watch, but Jim didn't go over right away. Instead, he listened. There were two heartbeats in the room; one slightly accelerated, the other one tripping madly. Bruenell was talking.

"Aw, the pretty boy went and cut his hair. Still pretty, though."

Jim's hands clenched into fists. Blair. Why had Blair come to see Bruenell?

"Thanks for the compliment, Bruenell. By the way, is deathly pale the new look? And I thought _I_ was making a fashion statement."

"Touché. I knew you had a fast mind," Bruenell said knowingly. "You're wasting your talents with that copper."

"That's for me to decide," Blair shot back.

Jim blinked in confusion. What on earth was going on in there?

"Are you sure you don't have any use whatsoever for a quarter million dollars?" Bruenell again. Would this jerk ever learn? Blair wasn't into material possessions...unless they were at least a hundred years old and completely valueless. "Get me out of here and I'll make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Blair chuckled, but it was a dark sound. Jim was getting worried. "You're the idiot, Bruenell. You still don't get it, do you? I'm Ellison's partner."

"Really?" The bed creaked; Bruenell must have sat up or rolled over. "Did he leave a mark?" he whispered.

Jim heard the scrape of flesh on flesh and started down the corridor, hearing still turned up. 

"Can I see it?" Bruenell asked huskily.

Jim flashed his badge to the cop, who nodded in respect. "I'm sorry, sir, only one visitor at a time."

"I need in there," Jim informed the man. His eyes flicked to the small window in the door, and his sight zeroed in on Bruenell leaning on his side, staring intently up at Blair.

"Back off," Blair growled, and Jim was certain his lover had yanked his hand back out of Bruenell's reach. "I could add more to your sentence time, you know. That was attempted bribery."

"Just attempted? You have everything you ever wanted, eh?"

Blair's choked voice was barely recognizable to Jim. "I wanted you dead."

Bruenell leaned back, surprise twisting his features. "Well. Maybe you should practice more."

Blair's voice rose. "You don't understand. I _wanted_ you dead. I _don't_ want you dead anymore. I just want to be left alone."

"Who's bothering you? You came to me, remember? I must have something you want."

"No," Blair immediately replied, though Jim heard the terror in his voice. "You don't have anything I want."

"I'm sorry, Detective. Those are the rules." The cop nodded once more, and Jim stared helplessly at the door.

"Then why are you here?" Bruenell asked simply. Jim silently asked the same question.

Jim's eyes narrowed as Bruenell licked his lips. His hands clenched at his sides, wanting desperately to punch that smug look right off of Bruenell's face. "I'm right, aren't I? You could use the money. Just think; you'd never have to take out a student loan again. You could travel to expeditions without worrying about the cost. Anthropology isn't a very lucrative field of study, now is it?"

"It's not the money," Blair mumbled.

"Then what?" Bruenell waited. Jim waited. Blair turned to the door.

"Don't leave." The command startled Jim. Bruenell's voice was cold, hard, and military. Blair's face registered shock and fear—the brief glimpse Jim got before Blair turned automatically toward the bed.

"I don't want to be here," Blair replied quietly.

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't...know."

"Blair." That was the first time Jim had heard Bruenell call his lover by his first name, and Jim hoped it would be the last. For Bruenell's sake. "You're here for a reason. We both know what it is. Let me..."

"No. You don't know why I'm here," Blair cut him off. "I'm here for _me_. Because _I_ needed to come here and face you. Because I had to own up to what I did."

Bruenell tilted his head and looked slyly up at Blair. "And what is that, precisely?"

Blair choked out, "I shot you."

Bruenell stayed quiet a moment longer, then asked, "And?"

It took Blair a moment to say, "And...what?"

Bruenell rolled his eyes. "Exactly. Was that it? You had to come down here and tell me you shot me? I think I already figured that out."

"No!" Blair snapped. "No," he repeated quieter. "I shot you because you said you'd had Jim killed. I wanted...I wanted you..."

Jim strained to hear what Blair was saying, concentrating so hard that he barely registered the increased heartbeats. Then the door burst open and a panicked Blair raced through, straight into Jim's arms.

"What are you doing here?" Blair cried out in shock.

Jim managed to recover quickly with the actual hands-on feel of Blair. "Looking for you. I think we need to talk."

Blair abruptly shook his head. "No."

"Yes." Jim hauled Blair down the hallway toward an empty room. Blair stumbled a bit, then straightened and stared out the window. Jim stood in the doorway in case the younger man got ideas about running. "Why'd you see Bruenell?"

Blair tried very hard to stare a hole through the window.

"Chief, answer me. Why did you have to come down here? Blair!" Jim

snapped when he got no response.

Blair started trembling, then he turned to Jim and grated out, "Because all I see when I close my eyes is _him_! Because all I feel is the gun jerking in my hand, and the pain on his face and I fe—and I feel...and I can't live with it, Jim! I can't!"

Blair turned to face the windows again, his entire body tense. His voice was a rasp of a whisper. "He said you were dead. He said it with such authority...such absolute conviction, that I believed him. I knew in my gut that you were lying upstairs in the courtroom with your face blown off. I could picture it...that's when I went for the gun.

"I know it was stupid. It was one of the stupidest things I'd ever done, but all I could see was your body...your dead body. I don't ever want to see that, Jim," Blair added as an afterthought, but Jim could tell it was not a plea. It was an order. "It's all I could see...I don't even remember getting the gun. I don't remember firing it. I just remember the fear. Fear of losing you. Fear of going on without you."

The tears Jim could hear in Blair's voice now trailed down his face. "I shot a man because of my fear of losing you. I wanted him dead because I thought he'd had you killed. I didn't know I had that in me, Jim. I don't like that about me. I want it to go away. I want me back. This isn't me. I can't do this. I couldn't have done that. I'm not..." 

"Human?" Jim interrupted softly. Blair took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at him. He continued, "You're human, Blair. You reacted—strongly—to shock and fear. You were in extraordinary circumstances, pushed beyond your normal limits. I've been there before. I've done what you did. I was who you were."

"But who am I now?" Blair asked in a soft voice.

He walked over to his younger lover and ran his hands down his arms. "You're still Blair Sandburg, Ph.D. candidate and police observer. You're still a decent, caring human being. You just tapped into that primal part of yourself that you love to tease me about."

Blair's arms were still wrapped tightly around his chest. "But...Jim. How do you deal with it? How do you...handle that rush?"

"Let's go home, Chief, and I'll try to explain it to you." The second the words were out of his mouth, Jim knew he had blown it. _Home_ didn't mean Blair anymore. Blair had moved out. 

"That sounds good," Blair agreed, then asked, "What's wrong?"

"Hm?" He blinked rapidly and shook his head. "Nothing."

Blair placed his hand on Jim's arm. "Bullshit. Something's wrong. What?"

"Home," Jim answered lamely.

Blair's brow creased in confusion. "What about it?"

He couldn't look at his lover. "Do you still want to go home?" he asked quietly.

"I just said I did," Blair restated. "Jim, are you okay?" 

"Why?" Jim whispered. His throat was constricted, and he could feel his vision narrowing. "Why do you want to be with me? You end up getting kidnapped and beaten up and..."

"Jim! Don't do this to me now...Jim, you hear me...?"

Even the commands of his guide couldn't keep Jim from his guilt-laden zone-out. The world narrowed to the pounding of his own heart, and Jim was oblivious to anything else. Blair's moving out. Blair's broken fingers. Blair's haircut. Blair's attitude change. Blair's hurt.

Blair had told him about his life before Jim. Free-spirited Naomi had taken Blair all over the world. He happily followed her from city to city, country to country, with hardly a complaint. He loved Naomi, her friends, and his life. He was free to make his own choices at a very young age. He followed in his mother's footsteps of the non-violence creed of the '60s. But while he was definitely his mother's child, Blair had asserted his own personality at a young age. What Blair wanted, Blair got. And Blair knew he wanted to be an anthropologist. He had seen the tribes of Africa and South America. Had lived with them. Had overcome their initial fear to be accepted by many different peoples. Blair _fit_ wherever he went. 

Then he met Detective James Ellison, and he suddenly didn't fit. Organization wasn't part of his lifestyle growing up, and Blair had to struggle to change, to fit in. He shouldn't have had to change to fit into Jim's life. Blair was Blair, and nothing could change that. 

Except the one bullet that shattered Blair's confidence. Blair cared too much...was that possible? Could someone care too much? Blair came today to see Bruenell, to apologize for defending himself. Blair had taken out bad guys before; he had just used his wits the other times. Never a gun. Blair hated them. Understood the right to bear arms and supported it, but personally hated weapons of any kind. Wouldn't let Jim teach him how to use one. Wouldn't go into the woods for practice. Didn't want them in his life, but knew Jim had to carry one as part of his job. Accepted it, but didn't like it.

And how many times had Jim given Blair a gun and asked him to back him up? Too many to remember.

Something was rubbing his hand. Something warm. It felt good...

"Jim? Come on, Jim, snap out of it. Follow my voice back. That's it..."

Jim blinked at the brightness of the hospital lounge, and sneezed as the bite of antiseptic filled his nose. Blair's concerned gaze filled his vision, and he frowned. "What happened?"

"You zoned."

"Why? What..." Suddenly, Jim remembered what had happened.

Blair shook him. "Jim, stay with me! Guilt-trips are fine, but not for you. You can't control them."

"But..."

Blair sighed in exasperation. "Jim. I love you, but you're dense sometimes. I'm not stupid. I know you feel guilty about what happened. It's not your fault."

He looked up at his lover. "It's not you fault either, Chief. I should have...used my senses, somehow and..."

Blair waved a hand. "And what, Jim? Smelled actions before they happen? You're not superman; you're a sentinel."

"But I heard everything," he protested. "I couldn't do anything about it. I focused my hearing so hard I don't think I felt anything else. And then the gunshot...it killed it. I couldn't move. All I heard was the shot, and I didn't know if you...if he had..."

"If you were concentrating that hard on hearing, and the shot blasted through you...you must have shorted your hearing out. It must have been paralyzing," Blair murmured.

Jim could only nod. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Blair's hands squeezed his arms again. "Jim, if you don't stop with the guilt-trip, I'm gonna cry. And I've done enough of that already."

Jim took a deep breath and forced out the words he feared saying. "Blair, how can you forgive me? I let you down." He expected to find any number of things in Blair's eyes—guilt, anger, stubbornness, but he didn't expect the overwhelming love. 

Blair smoothed back Jim's hair and murmured, "You kept me from hurting anyone else. You were there when I needed you most. What's there to forgive? You didn't let me down. You kept me up. I was curled on the cement floor and you pulled me to my feet before the feds showed up. Don't you get it yet, you overprotective lug? I love you."

Jim blinked in surprise. "You still want me? After all this shit?"

"Of course I still want you," Blair answered, his voice husky. "Where's this coming from?"

Each word felt like it was being ripped from his chest. "Well, you left, and...you needed time to think. I thought you'd think about living with a cop, and decide it wasn't the life you wanted anymore."

"This is because I slept on the couch, isn't it?" Blair took a deep breath. "Shit, shit, _shit_ ," he grumbled as he jumped up and started to pace. "I was wrong."

Jim blinked at his lover, unsure what Blair had been wrong about. Wrong about shooting Bruenell? Wrong about leaving? Or wrong about their relationship?

Blair's words echoed Jim's thoughts. "You're much better at this relationship stuff than I am. I thought since this happened to me, I had to deal with it on my own. I was so wrong. This happened to _us_ , didn't it?"

Jim nodded, unable to speak this time.

Blair hunched down on the floor next to Jim and placed his hand on Jim's thigh. "I ran away, Jim. I ran away from Bruenell, I ran away from you; I ran away from _us_. I ran away from the whole damn _city_ , and then I realized where I went wrong." Blair scooted closer to Jim, locking gazes with his lover. "You were right. We needed to face this together. I should have drawn from your experience and your strength; instead I went with what I'd done in the past—I ran. I thought I could handle it on my own." Blair's voice cracked as he whispered, "But I can't. You don't know how much that hurts to admit, but I can't handle it."

"Yes, I do." Jim's voice was barely audible as his mouth had suddenly gone bone dry. "It killed me that you couldn't talk to me. I wanted to rush over to the University a dozen times yesterday but didn't, trying to respect your need for privacy. I trusted that you would be able to handle it on your own. I didn't want to push you."

Blair fell forward into Jim's chest, and Jim's arms came up around him. "I can't handle it on my own. I need help, Jim. I need _you_ , and that scares the shit out of me. I never needed someone before. I've needed water, and a bed, and new textbooks and grants, but I've never needed a _person_ before."

Jim thought briefly of all the people he'd needed in his life, and none seemed more important than the man he held at this moment. "How long was your longest relationship?"

Blair was quiet a moment. "About six months, I think. We both just started at Rainier, Masters candidates. The rush of candidacy and classes and a new school kept us going, but after that died away, she was just too much. She was _everywhere_ , and I needed space. I moved out at Winter break into the warehouse."

"And mine lasted about two years," Jim admitted. "We're both too independent. That's one of our problems. We're so used to doing things alone, that we're having trouble remembering there's someone else to depend on. We don't have to go it alone if we don't want to."

"I don't want to," Blair mumbled into Jim's chest.

"I don't want to either, Sandburg. It's more fun with someone to share things with."

"We're a pair, aren't we?" Blair joked, though no smile lifted his mouth.

"Yes, we are," Jim stressed as he gripped Blair's hand in his tightly. "And we'll get through this as a pair."

"Shouldn't that be 'couple'?" Blair teased, and the faintest hint of a smile appeared.

"Couple, pair, flock, I don't care," he declared. "We'll get through it _together_. How does that sound?"

"It sounds a hell of a lot better than it did yesterday," Blair admitted as he rested his forehead against Jim's chest. "I messed up, didn't I?"

He ran his hands over Blair's head, marveling at the feel of his shorter hair. "No, Chief, you didn't."

"You've been married before, Jim. This commitment thing is still new to me. Listen to me," he berated himself, "I still call it a 'thing,' like it's no big deal. It _is_ a big deal. I'm just not used to it. Not used to counting on someone else. Not used to someone else wanting to share in my problems. I mean, who wants to mess with someone else's, when everyone has their own set to deal with?"

"I do," Jim stated emphatically. "Yeah, I was married. But I wasn't a partner to Carolyn. I didn't talk to her about the important stuff. I didn't let her share my pain or my happiness. I felt the same way you do now..."

"Ohmygod!" Blair burst out. "You don't think that about me, do you Jim? I'm not like that, am I?"

"Sandburg, be quiet and let me finish," Jim growled softly. Blair clapped his mouth shut. "This is about more than just the two of us. I have...baggage, as you would say, from my marriage to Carolyn. I based my reactions to you on my experiences with her. I didn't want to make the same mistakes again. Where she used to crowd me, I let you alone. Where I used to get mad and stormed around in a rage, I stayed quiet. I went in the extreme opposite direction, and I guess it didn't work as well as I thought." Jim smiled ruefully. "I had a momentary lapse of memory; you aren't Carolyn."

At that, Blair burst out laughing. "Jim, that is a _serious_ lapse! I mean, look at me! I do not look a _thing_ like Carolyn!"

"Oh, I don't know," Jim teased. "With your hair this short, and without your glasses...ow!" Jim yelped as Blair punched him in the arm.

"Not funny, Ellison," Blair warned even as he grinned. His smile faded and he grew serious. "I guess we have a long way to go to get this right, huh?"

He drew Blair tighter into his arms. "We don't have to get it right. We just have to get it working."

Blair blinked. "This from Mr. 'make sure to pair your socks before folding' Ellison? Whoa."

"I wanted it to be right with Carolyn, and look where we ended up. Maybe it just has to feel right, not _be_ right. Make sense, Chief?" He ran his hand down Blair's back.

"I think so. Sort of a 'go with what feels good' attitude." Blair suddenly arched his back. "And that felt _good_."

Jim smiled as he kissed Blair's exposed neck. There might be advantages to Blair's short hair, after all. "Let's go home."

Blair rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. "Home is good. Want to stop by and get my things from Joel's first?"

"No. It can wait. I can't," Jim whispered as he covertly massaged Blair's ass under his coat.

"Home. Now," Blair agreed as he stood up. They made themselves presentable and left the hospital for home.

The end


End file.
